Damage Control
Title: Damage Control
Fandom: Call of Duty
Pairing: Captain John Price x Young University Person
Description: A minor fender bender in a university parking lot threatens to ignite a major family drama for a stressed college student, until she calls her hardened, tactical-operator boyfriend to handle the situation before her strict father ever finds out.
Author's Note: I kinds of did something today :/ Let me know if you find out what I did. Writing fan fiction is the thing that helps me cope.
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The air in the lecture hall had been stale for three straight hours, and by the time you finally pushed through the heavy double doors into the cool afternoon air, your head was throbbing. Midterm season was in full swing, and your brain felt completely fried from taking endless pages of notes.
Adjusting the heavy strap of your backpack over your shoulder, you pulled out your phone as you began the long walk across campus to the parking structure.
You: Just got out of class. My brain is completely dead and I still have two chapters to read tonight... I don't know how I'm going to stay awake to study.
You were barely halfway down the concrete steps when your phone buzzed in your hand.
John: Come study here tonight, love. I’ll make dinner, put a fresh pot of coffee on, and keep you focused.
A small, tired smile instantly tugged at the corner of your lips. Just reading his message made the tension in your shoulders ease up a bit. John’s flat was quiet, warm, and blissfully free of campus noise—the exact opposite of your chaotic dorm or your dad’s high-pressure house.
You: You're a lifesaver. On my way to my car right now, see you in 20.
Sliding the phone back into your coat pocket, you headed into the dimly lit parking garage, eager to get behind the wheel, hit the road, and collapse onto John's couch. You unlocked your car, tossed your heavy bag into the passenger seat, and started the engine.
Exhaustion was making your eyes heavy as you shifted into reverse and checked your mirrors. You tapped the accelerator, backing slowly out of the tight spot, until a sharp, sickening crunch of crumpling metal resonated right through the frame of your car.
Your heart slammed into your ribs as the sickening sound echoed in the quiet garage. Instant panic spiked through the fog of your exhaustion, instantly snapping you wide awake. Reflexively, your foot jammed down on the brake, and you shoved the gear shift back into park, pulling the car straight back into the spot you had just tried to leave.
Scrambling out of the driver's seat, you practically sprinted around to the back to inspect the damage.
The other car, a sleek, brand-new sedan, had taken the brunt of it. Its front license plate was completely mangled, crushed flat against a dented bumper. Your stomach plummeted. Panicked, you rushed to look at your own rear bumper, bracing yourself for a massive repair bill.
You blinked. You rubbed your eyes, leaning down to stare closer.
Nothing. Not a single scratch, dent, or scrape. Your heavy-duty bumper hadn't even lost a speck of paint.
"Are you kidding me?" you whispered, your voice shaking as a wave of pure panic set in. The contrast made it feel so much worse, a pristine car next to one with clear, undeniable damage.
Your hands trembled as you pulled out your phone. The first instinct was to call your dad; he owned the title, paid the insurance, and tracked every minor inconvenience like a courtroom audit. But you could already hear his voice booming through the speaker, the harsh lecture about how reckless you were, how you weren't responsible enough to drive, and how this was going to ruin his insurance premiums. The thought alone made your throat feel tight. You couldn't face him right now. You just couldn't.
You stared at his contact on your screen for three agonizing seconds before swiping it away.
Your thumbs flew across the glass, scrolling down to the name that always meant safety.
John.
You pressed call, holding the phone tightly to your ear as it rang once... twice...
"Everything alright, love?" John’s deep, calm voice came through the line, immediately cutting through the ambient hum of the parking garage. "You should still be on the road."
"John," you breathed out, your voice tight with rising panic. "I... I just backed into someone's car in the campus garage."
Back at his flat, John had been sitting by the window with the soft glow of a lamp behind him, a dark leather-bound book open in one hand and a cigar resting between his fingers.
The moment he heard the strain and panic in your voice, the relaxed atmosphere in the room completely vanished. Without hesitation, he snapped the book shut and set it on the side table, setting his cigar down in the glass ashtray next to it.
"How bad is the damage?" he asked, his voice instantly dropping into that calm, grounded rhythm that meant he was taking control of the situation.
"The other car got it; its front plate is totally crunched, and the bumper is dented," you stammered into the receiver, pacing nervously back and forth between the two vehicles. "But... John, there's nothing on mine. Not even a scratch. I don't know what to do; if I call my dad, he’s going to lose his mind. He'll lecture me for hours...."
"Take a breath, love," John interrupted gently, the quiet clinking of keys rustling through the speaker as he stood up and grabbed his jacket. "Don't call your dad. Just stay right where you are and keep the doors locked if you feel uncomfortable."
You let out a shaky exhale, clinging to the sound of his voice.
"I'm on my way," John said, grabbing his boots by the door. "Give me ten minutes. I'll handle it."
Ten minutes had never felt so long. Every echo in the concrete garage made your heart jump, every footstep in the distance making you brace for the owner of the dented sedan to walk around the corner. You sat huddled in your driver's seat, staring fixedly at the rearview mirror, counting the seconds until your phone screen lit up or a familiar silhouette appeared.
Then, the low, steady rumble of an engine vibrated through the floorboards.
A sleek black SUV rounded the ramp, its headlights cutting through the dim grey light of the structure before rolling to a stop right next to your car. The driver's side door swung open, and John stepped out. He was dressed casually in a dark jacket, but he moved with that effortless, grounded presence that instantly made the rest of the world feel quiet.
The second you saw him, the heavy weight in your chest finally loosened.
You shoved your car door open, practically scrambling out of the seat to meet him. "John," you breathed out, stepping toward him as he shut his door with a solid thud.
John took one look at your pale, wide-eyed face and closed the distance between you in two long strides, his warm, solid hands coming up to gently cup the sides of your arms.
"Hey," he said soft and low, his dark eyes searching yours as he checked you over. "You're alright. I've got you."
He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. The warmth of his lips against your skin instantly melted away the last lingering traces of your panic.
"Well," John said, pulling back slightly with a reassuring smirk as he slid a hand into his coat pocket. "Let’s have a look at the damage."
He walked past your driver's door, his sharp, trained eyes scanning the scene before stooping down to inspect the two vehicles. He glanced at your pristine rear bumper first, shaking his head with a quiet, dry chuckle.
"Not a scratch on yours," he observed, running a thumb over the unscathed paint. He then shifted his weight to crouch down in front of the other sedan, examining the crushed license plate and the crumpled plastic of its front bumper. He tapped the mangled plate thoughtfully. "Took the full impact right on their frame. Safe to say your car came out the clear winner."
John stood up, brushing his hands together as he turned back to look at you, his demeanor completely calm and collected.
"Now, did you see anyone nearby, or has the owner not shown up yet?"
"No," you said, shaking your head as you wrapped your arms tightly around yourself. "It's been quiet since it happened. I haven't seen anyone come near it."
John nodded slowly, his eyes sweeping the quiet rows of the parking structure one last time to confirm you were alone. "Good," he said, stepping back over to you and placing a steady, warm hand on the small of your back.
"Here’s what we’re going to do," he said, his tone turning crisp and efficient. "You're going to get back into your car, head straight to my flat, and unlock the door. The coffee pot is already prepped, just push the button, sit on the sofa, and relax. I’ll take photos of both cars, write a note with my contact info to leave under their wiper, and handle the insurance details if they call."
You looked up at him, a huge wave of relief washing over you. "Are you sure? You don't want me to stay?"
John offered you a warm, faint smile, leaning down to brush his thumb gently over your cheek. "I’m sure, love. The last thing you need tonight is standing around in a freezing garage dealing with a pissed-off driver. Go on. I’ll be right behind you."
You paused, looking between John and the crunched front bumper of the sedan, your mind racing through the options.
John watched the flickers of hesitation cross your face, a subtle, knowing tilt appearing at the corner of his lips. He tilted his head slightly toward his SUV, his tone dropping just a fraction lower, laced with dry, practical humor.
"Or," John murmured, leaning in slightly, "we could just leave it."
You blinked, looking up at him in surprise. "Wait, what?"
"No cameras in this corner of the structure," he said quietly, his sharp eyes flicking up toward the dim concrete ceiling, having already mapped out the blind spots the second he pulled in. "Your car doesn't have a single mark on it. No paint transfer, no structural damage, nothing to tie you to that bumper. If we drive off right now, nobody is any the wiser, and your dad never hears a single word."
He rested his hands comfortably in his jacket pockets, looking completely unfazed as he watched you process the idea.
"I'm more than happy to write the note, leave my number, and pay out of pocket to fix their plate," Price added with a low chuckle, stepping closer and giving your shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "But if you just want this whole night to disappear so you can get home, curl up on the couch, and forget today ever happened... I won't tell if you won't."
Y/N looked at the military Captain, shocked. "Can we go with the first option?".
John chuckled softly, a warm, approving look in his eyes as he shook his head.
"Good girl," he murmured, his voice laced with gentle fondness. "Always doing things by the book."
He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small notepad and a pen he always kept on hand. "First option it is. Go on and get in your car, love. Turn the heater on and sit tight. I'll write down my name and cell number, leave it under their wiper, and take a quick photo of the scene for our records."
You let out a long, heavy breath you felt like you’d been holding since the moment you heard that awful crunch. The relief was overwhelming. You nodded, stepping back toward your driver's side door. "Okay. Thank you, John. Seriously."
"Don't mention it," he said, already clicking the pen open as he stepped over to the damaged sedan. "Now get inside where it's warm. I'll be done here in two minutes, and then we're heading home."
You slipped back into the driver's seat, pulling the door shut against the chill of the garage. Through the windshield, you watched John with a soft, tired smile. He looked completely in his element, cool, calm, and effortlessly taking care of the mess so you didn't have to. Within a minute, he had slipped the folded piece of paper securely under the windshield wiper, snapped a quick photo on his phone, and turned back toward your car, giving you a sharp nod through the glass that meant all clear.
---
By the time you reached John’s flat, the adrenaline had completely worn off, leaving behind a heavy, aching exhaustion. You padded into his bedroom, trading your stiff jeans and shirt for an oversized pair of his grey sweatpants and a worn black hoodie you’d "borrowed" weeks ago. The waistband swallowed you, and the sleeves fell well past your hands, but the faint scent of cedar and tobacco clinging to the fabric was instantly grounding.
Entering the kitchen, you pulled out a chair at the wooden dining table and slumped down, resting your chin in your hands. Even though John was taking care of it, a knot of guilt began to tighten in your stomach. What if the driver was furious? What if they called the police instead of John’s cell? What if somehow, through insurance records or bad luck, your dad found out anyway?
The soft click of the front door unlocked, signaling John’s return. He tossed his keys into the tray by the entryway, kicked off his boots, and walked straight into the kitchen.
He took one look at you, swallowed whole by his clothes, staring blankly at the tabletop with a furrowed brow—and knew immediately where your head was.
Setting two steaming mugs of tea on the table, John pulled out the chair right beside yours and sat down.
"Still playing out every worst-case scenario in that head of yours?" he asked softly, his deep voice cutting through the quiet room.
You looked up, biting your lip. "John... what if they freak out? What if they somehow trace it back to my dad's insurance? I feel terrible. I should have been paying more attention."
John reached across the table, his broad, warm hand wrapping entirely over yours, squeezing gently until you finally met his eyes.
"Listen to me, love," he said, his tone firm, steady, and utterly unwavering. "It was a tiny mistake in a dark garage after a grueling day. Nobody was hurt. Your car doesn't have a mark on it, and the note under their wiper has my name and my phone number on it. If they call, they deal with me. Not your dad, not your insurance. Me."
He leaned in a little closer, his thumb stroking the back of your hand.
"You did the right thing by calling me, and it’s completely taken care of. I promise you, everything is going to be fine."
The absolute certainty in his voice acted like an anchor, pulling you right out of the spiral. The heavy knot in your chest finally dissolved, replaced by the quiet, safe warmth of his kitchen.
"Now," John murmured, a faint, fond smile tugging at his lips as he nudged one of the mugs toward you. "Drink your tea, open those textbooks, and let me worry about the rest tonight."
A low, quiet laugh escaped your throat, the last bits of your anxiety finally melting away into the warm atmosphere of the kitchen. You wrapped both hands around the hot ceramic mug, looking across the table at him.
"How am I ever going to repay you for this?" you asked, a tired but genuine smile finally touching your lips.
John leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his broad chest. A slow, dark smirk spread across his face, his eyes crinkling at the corners with familiar, lazy mischief as he looked you up and down in his oversized hoodie.
"I can think of a few ways," he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly rumble that sent a sudden spark of heat straight through the quiet room.
You felt your cheeks warm up instantly, hiding behind a sip of your tea. "John..."
"What?" he asked innocently, though the dangerous gleam in his dark eyes said otherwise. "I'm a very reasonable man, love. We can start with you letting me help you study for an hour so you don't fail those midterms... and then we'll negotiate the rest when you're finished."
He reached across the table, his fingers gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear before his thumb brushed along your jawline.
"Deal?" he whispered.
"Deal," you breathed, a soft smile breaking out across your face as you pulled your notebook out of your bag, completely safe, completely grounded, and knowing that whatever mess came tomorrow, John had it handled.
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